


When You See Me Bare, Remember I Love You

by Bennyhatter



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Begging, Bodily Fluids, Boypussy, Boypussy Daryl, Canon-Typical Violence, Creampie, Daryl Needs a Hug, Daryl deserves all the love, Drooling, Filthy, Fingering, Gags, Happy Ending, Insecurity, Intersex Character, Intersex Daryl, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Rick is a Saint, Rick wants to give him that love, Rickyl Writers' Group Bingo 2016, Scratching, Self-Esteem Issues, Unsafe Sex, because no condom, bingo card fill, bottom!daryl, implied childhood abuse, mentions of abuse, scarred character, sort of, top!rick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-11
Updated: 2016-06-11
Packaged: 2018-07-14 10:45:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7167926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bennyhatter/pseuds/Bennyhatter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one realized Daryl wasn’t a girl when he was born. To be fair, how they were supposed to realize the wailing newborn was male when there was no male genitalia was something that could be reasonably confusing.</p><p>In which Daryl was born with a pussy, but is otherwise completely male, he has a lot of hang-ups and angst about it, and Rick Grimes is a saint who is too perfect to be real.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When You See Me Bare, Remember I Love You

**Author's Note:**

> This is for my "Sexual Hangups" bingo card.
> 
> Happy ending yay! I WROTE BOYPUSSY!DARYL THAT DOESN'T END IN DEATH, AND IT HAS PORN!
> 
> I had started this one a while back, and I'm so happy it's finally finished. ;u;
> 
> Daryl you precious, precious angel. Let Rick love you.

No one realized Daryl wasn’t a girl when he was born. To be fair, how they were supposed to realize the wailing newborn was male when there _was no male genitalia_ was something that could be reasonably confusing.

No one realized until he was twelve and going through puberty; when his voice got deeper and no breasts developed and his daddy lost his shit and nearly put him in a coma because _no way in hell was he raising some pussy little bitch man with a cunt._

When Daryl crashed his motorcycle at sixteen and Merle dragged his unconscious body to the ER because he didn’t know what else to do—didn’t even stay to make sure he was okay because he was so high at the time it was a miracle he even remembered Daryl was his brother—the doctors ran blood tests. They explained something about genetic mutations to him, something he was too out of it to pay attention to. They asked about the scars and the burns and Daryl got the fuck out of there before anyone called CPS—vanished back into the woods and cut his casts off himself when he was reasonably sure he wouldn’t re-break anything from doing so. He ripped the gauze wrapped around his head off himself, too, and spent days staring at the horrendous mess of his face and the stitches that fucked up the left side of his nose and went under his eye and down his cheek.

He cut those out, too, as soon as it looked like he was healed enough not to wreck anything further. The scars stayed, because he used his hunting knife instead of scissors, so it was far from a neat job, but he was already covered in so much visible damage that he really gave no fucks about a little bit more of it.

Anything sexual was out of the question, because there was no way to explain _that_ to any partners. Daryl had never been interested in women, and he doubted any of the men that liked to eye him at the bar would appreciate what they found in his pants if he did decide to say fuck it and let them tumble him into the nearest bed. Besides, if they were looking at his broad shoulders and his flat chest and his fucking facial hair, they were in for a world of disappointment when they got below the belt. So Daryl stayed away from sex, and most contact, and beat the shit out of Merle when he was drunk and mean enough to taunt his _sissy little brother and his needy little pussy; poor Darleena, you’d better suck it up, sunshine, ‘cause ain’t no one gonna wanna touch that with a ten foot pole. Or any kind of pole._

For years he dealt with it, dealt with their father and his tortures and the sympathy of people who pretended to give a shit when they really couldn’t care less. Then the world went to shit, and everyone he knew but Merle died, and they learned real fucking quick how to make those fuckers _stay_ dead. He was all for going it alone, just the two of them, because the less people they were around, the better it was for them and the easier it was to hide for him. He’d gotten his name changed not long after the accident that fucked up his face—think you’re having a baby girl and you name the kid a girl’s name, and wasn’t _that_ fucking awkward in high school. After the world ended, though, things like birth certificates didn’t matter anymore. All he had to do was say his name, and people had no reason to question it. He had no interest in the people they found—wanted to punch Shane in the face half the time and beat Ed to death _all_ the time, and he kept the others at a safe distance more because there was no point in getting attached when there was no guarantee they wouldn’t all die in a day or two anyway.

And then Rick Grimes waltzed into Daryl’s life, and he forget why keeping people at a distance was a bad thing.

Rick is strong, and kind, and so fucking gorgeous in all of the most dangerous ways. He’s got eyes like summer storms and curls Daryl wants to get his fucking fingers tangled up in, and his Adam’s apple is so perfect the archer just wants to _bite it_ and _suck_ , and leave a goddamn mark for the world to see. That motherfucker _handcuffed his brother on a roof and left him there_ , and Daryl still wants to give his throat to the man like they’re wolves and he’s showing deference to his alpha.

They aren’t wolves, and he sure as fuck isn’t _that_ submissive. He’s just desperate and he _needs_ , and his fingers have never really been enough but they’re all he’s _got_ late at night while he’s straining his ears to hear any sign of Rick talking to anyone and wishing it was something a lot thicker and longer than his own fingers pushing inside of his dripping cunt.

At first it’s just because Rick is the most attractive thing he’s ever seen walking around—and in the apocalypse, where the walkers are rotting and falling to pieces and half of the survivors are losing who they are in some way or another, his options are really fucking limited to who he does and does not find attractive. And Rick is just... God, it’s almost not even worth putting into words, because nothing comes close to explaining what Rick is.

Daryl would have an easier time listing what he _isn’t_ , but then he’d have to admit to himself that as the months pass and all of them grow closer, as Rick comes to rely on him more and more while Shane loses himself to his darkness and his jealousy, Daryl isn’t just looking at Rick and seeing a fantasy he can pretend about all he wants under the cover of darkness. He’s seeing the man behind the mask, is getting closer to him in every way that he swore he’d never get close to anyone, and when the guillotine falls and Shane loses the fight, Daryl stands up and takes his place at Rick’s side, and he doesn’t feel like a replacement at all.

He feels like an equal. Which is why by the time they find the prison, he’s already so in love and completely, utterly _screwed._

 

\--

 

Fingers drag across the skin of his abdomen, just above the waistband of his pants, and Daryl knocks them away before they can venture any lower. He growls into Rick’s mouth and bites the man’s lower lip hard, and Rick licks past his teeth and laps his apologies into the roof of the archer’s mouth with the tip of his tongue before sitting back and giving Daryl space to breathe. They’re both panting, and he can see the bulge in the front of Rick’s pants just as easily as his leader can see _nothing_ at Daryl’s groin, and he watches as the older man frowns in confusion.

“Did I go too fast?” he asks, reaching out and trailing his fingers beneath the archer’s left eye, his thumb rubbing gently at the faint scars crisscrossing across the side of his nose. “I keep doin’ that, Daryl. You gotta let me know ‘fore it gets to that point.”

“Ain’t goin’ too fast, Rick, Jesus,” he bites out, pushing himself up and leaning back against the chilly cell wall. He wants to pull his legs up to his chest, but he knows that’ll make him look too closed off. As it is, he’s lucky he’s not leaking through his damn boxers and pants because of how wet he already is, and therein lies the fucking problem.

“What is it, Daryl?” Rick’s fingers trace down the side of his face and curl against his jaw, coaxing him into looking up through the tangled mess of his bangs. “Every time we start somethin’, you act like I’m gonna run screaming if I get more than your shirt off. You should know better than that by now, darlin’.”

Daryl shivers at the endearing term, heat making his blood burn and turning his cheeks red. He rubs at his nose and sniffs quickly, trying to figure out how he can do damage control and make it past Rick without raising too much suspicion. He needs a smoke, needs to lock himself up on the roof for a while and just _breathe_ , because the longer this goes on, the closer and closer he gets to Rick as he’s drawn to his friend with the force of two magnets snapping together, the harder it is for him to stop himself. He just wants to give Rick _everything_ , every single fucking part of himself, and he _can’t_ because he’s so fucked up and wrong that even his body can’t be normal. He’s nothing but the trash his family has always been labeled as, maybe even worse than that, because at least his daddy and Merle had the right equipment between their legs.

“M’just tired,” he mutters, and the lie is pitiful at best. He knows Rick doesn’t believe it, sees it in the way the man’s eyes darken and his lips pull down in a frown.

“Bullshit,” his friend says flatly, and Daryl tries not to flinch but he can’t help himself. “Daryl,” he goes on, softening his voice and drawing the archer closer. He can’t even fight it, too desperate for whatever he can get from Rick. Their kiss is slow and sweet, the fire beneath his skin igniting all over again, and it’s all he can do not to kick his pants off and crawl onto Rick’s lap to grind down on the dick hidden beneath the man’s jeans until he’s coming all over him.

 _Fucking hell._ He shudders and whines into the kiss; presses closer daringly, tempting fate and determined to win. Long fingers tangle in his riotous hair, guiding him as Rick leads the kiss the same way he leads everything else between them. They are equals in everything, but like this, with the growing intimacy between them, Daryl is more than happy to let Rick take control.

They separate with a wet parting of their mouths, Rick’s tongue searing a line over his lower lip when his leader pulls back. Daryl tries to dive in for another kiss, tries to stop the conversation he’s so desperate to avoid, because he wants to keep this for just a little bit longer before everything unravels and he’s thrown from the roof like he knows he deserves.

“No,” Rick rumbles, his voice dipping low and taking on an edge that makes Daryl shudder all over again and shut his eyes tightly. God, he’s fucking screwed if Rick getting dominant like that is enough to make his abdomen clench and his cunt throb, a few more trickles of wetness leaking out between his thighs. “Daryl, please. Darlin’, you gotta tell me what’s goin’ on. I’m not a mind reader, you know that. You need to tell me what’s got you so out of sorts. I can’t help if I don’t know what’s wrong.”

“I fuckin’ _can’t_ , okay,” the archer snarls. He tries to shove past Rick and leave, feeling raw and in danger of cracking too far if his friend keeps looking at him with so much worry and compassion. He wants to tell Rick, wants to spill his whole damn story and beg for forgiveness and understanding. He’ll take whatever punches Rick throws, just so long as he’s not made to leave, and the depth of love he has for the other man is terrifying and thrilling at the same time.

Daryl isn’t used to love and compassion. He’s used to fury and pain, used to taking a fist to the face and getting back up to lick the blood off his teeth and throw punches of his own until his opponent either gets the best of him or gets knocked the fuck out. He’s so tired of that kind of life, tired of living half his life checking behind him to make sure there’s not someone sneaking up to try and catch him off guard. Here, with his ragtag pseudo family at the end of the goddamn world, he feels _settled_. He feels fucking _happy_ , and if he has to take a few fists to keep the only home he’s ever truly considered a positive influence, he just might.

“ _Why not_?” the former officer shoots back. He looks frustrated and helpless, but not angry. “Daryl, what could be _that bad_ that you won’t accept any kind of help or even _try_ to let someone understand? Whatever this is, it’s killin’ you, darlin’. It’s eating away at you, and I _hate that._ You’ve been through too much. We’ve all been through hell, but you’ve had the worst of it, and I know you have. Whatever it is, _let me help you_. Please. I love you. I love you too much to see you suffer in silence thinking you’re alone because no one will understand. _Please._ ”

_I love you._

For a minute, Daryl can only stare at Rick speechlessly. He knows his mouth is open, his whole body frozen as those three words bounce around inside his skull and reverberate through his nerves like the vibrations of a drum.

_I love you._

No one has ever said that to him. Not even his mom, when he was young and she would smile at him in a booze-induced stupor.

_I love you._

Even Merle, with all his boasting and his supposed pride, never said it in those words.

**_I love you._ **

“I have a cunt.”

As soon as the words are out, as soon as he realizes what he’s done, Daryl tries to bolt.

_Shit! Shit, fuck, shit! Goddamn, you stupid fuck, why’d you say that?!_

He tries to shove Rick off the bed and out of the way, determined to climb over the older man if that’s what it takes, because _he didn’t mean to say that._ It wasn’t supposed to happen like this, not yet and maybe not _ever_ , but now the words are out in the air between them and Daryl is panicking so badly he can hardly see. His chest is heaving, his lungs seizing, and he can hear his ragged gasps bouncing of the cold walls of the cell and thundering in his ears along with the roar of blood.

“Daryl, wait!”

Hands grab his biceps, fingers digging in to try and draw his attention, and he lashes out blindly with a snarled, “Ge’cher hands off me!”

“Daryl, breathe,” Rick croons. Those fathomless, storm-colored eyes catch and hold him, unblinking and begging for something he doesn’t know how to name. Daryl stares back, wide-eyed and terrified as his fingers tighten in his own shirt and his ribs spasm and ache from his uncontrolled breathing. Light slants in through the bars of his cell door, lighting up Rick’s profile and making Daryl think of angels come to smite the undeserving. In contrast, the archer is sequestered in the shadows, painted in dimness and shrouded in the darkness that represents his own weaknesses and shortcomings. Someone like him, someone as fucked up and unworthy as him, could never hope to be on the same level as someone like Rick. He doesn’t deserve such brightness cast over his damaged flesh, doesn’t deserve the kindness and understanding or anything resembling _love_.

“Let go,” he whispers in defeat, because as badly as he needs to _get away_ , he knows it’s no use. He recognizes that light in Rick’s eyes. He’s seen it enough times through them knowing one another. The man has something to say, he’s gearing up to unleash _something_ , and Daryl is as helpless to obey him in this as he is in any other situation. Rick is his leader, his friend, his _world_ in this life where chaos runs rampant and safety is a pipe dream.

“No,” Rick whispers back. His voice is soft and coaxing, his hands gentle on Daryl’s arms now that he’s not trying to run. “No, darlin’, I’m not gonna do that. You and me are going to talk about this. Right now. Sit.”

Unable to do anything but what Rick says, Daryl sinks back onto the cot and curls into himself. He hugs himself in a foolhardy attempt at comfort, even though he knows better. There’s no comfort to be found here, waiting tense and unprepared for the guillotine to fall.

“What did you mean by it?”

The archer’s pale eyes narrow, darting around the room as he tries to focus on anything but Rick sitting beside him close enough for their thighs to touch. He shifts, trying to find comfort wherever he can, and he’s mortified at the slick that’s still leaking from him just from Rick’s close proximity. Hot breath brushes against his bare shoulder, making his skin tingle and his nerve light up, and he bites back a shuddering moan.

Now is definitely not the time.

“S’kinda self-explanatory,” he mutters evasively. He’s already said it once in a fit of stupidity. He’s not saying it again.

Rick makes a quiet noise in his throat. “You’re right, that was the wrong question.” He rests his hand lightly against Daryl’s nape, his warm fingers making the hunter close his eyes and press into the grounding contact. He’s so pathetically grateful that he hasn’t been shot yet, but the wariness is still lashing at his insides and making his stomach roil. He doesn’t know if he wants to scream or be sick, but as long as Rick’s rubbing at his neck in a way that inspires comfort instead of fear, he can manage to keep himself controlled.

“Are you transgender?”

“Th’ fuck is that even?” He still refuses to look at his friend, his glare fixed on the bare patch of rough cement by his door. “Ain’ never even heard’a that.”

“I’m just trying to figure it out, darlin’, it’s okay.”

“It ain’t _okay_ ,” Daryl spits, and he finally turns his glare on Rick. He’s shaking, he realizes belatedly, and his eyes burn with the familiar sting that precedes tears. “Ain’t a goddamn thing ‘bout this shit tha’s _okay_.”

“Why not?” Rick counters calmly. He looks so confused, like he can’t figure out _why_ this is such a problem. Daryl gapes at him, his mouth working like a fish’s.

“Ain’t fuckin’ natural, fer one,” he finally bites out. “You seriously gonna fuckin’ tell me it’s a normal, every-day thing? Ain’t that stupid, Rick.”

“Just because it’s uncommon does not make it unnatural.” The former officer shifts back until he’s leaning against the wall behind them, and Daryl’s opening his mouth to snap something that he promptly forgets when strong fingers grab his hips and haul him onto Rick’s lap. His legs fall open on either side of his friend’s thick, strong thighs; his words lost in a gasp when their groins fit together snugly. Red floods his cheeks, his mouth falling open, and when he feels full, slightly-chapped lips against his throat he can’t stop the thin whine that slips free.

“Can’t tell me yer not fuckin’ disgusted by this,” he whimpers, but even as he says it he can feel Rick’s cock hard beneath him, pressing hotly against his core. He’s still so fucking wet, _throbbing_ and _empty_ , and he’s rolling his hips before he’s thought things through. His head falls back, his throat working frantically as he cries out, and Rick groans beneath him before he starts laying hot, open-mouthed kisses down the line of Daryl’s sweat-damp throat.

“Why should I be?” he murmurs, and the archer can’t even come up with an answer, because Rick’s fingers are kneading at the arches of his hips, hot against his bare skin when they slip beneath his baggy shirt. He feels the man’s cock twitch and whimpers as he bucks against it, saliva already pooling at the corners of his mouth as he pants and his eyes flutter shut.

“Why w-wouldn’ ya b-be?” God, he can’t even get the words out right, his abdomen clenching and his hips rocking in a desperate grind as he chases the sensations he’s become intimately familiar with through countless years of self-pleasure. Rick hums against his Adam’s apple, the shock of it making him keen. He feels like he’s being pulled in so many directions he can’t find his bearings, his desperation wrecking his concentration. He’s so absorbed in trying to sort through everything, trying to get his head above water, that he doesn’t realize one of Rick’s hands is missing from his hips until his pants are open and fingers are sliding in to rub at his clit.

“ _Fuck!_ Oh, oh fuck, oh shit, _oh_ ,” he moans raggedly, his voice high and reedy in a way he’s never managed before. He’s never managed _any_ of this before, and the feeling of fingers working at him that are not his own is shattering the last of his resistance. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, _hnnn_ , please, oh fuck please.”

“You’re so fucking beautiful, Daryl,” Rick rumbles, and the archer can’t even form any kind of coherent comeback to that. Not when he feels his friend’s fingers teasing down to where he’s wet and needy. Not when the tips are sliding just inside of his cunt and he’s already trying to fuck himself down on them even though the angle is wrong and his pants are getting in the way. They need to be _naked_. He needs Rick’s long, wicked fingers fucking deep inside where no one has ever touched him before.

Daryl _wants_. He _needs_ , and if he doesn’t get something _soon_ he might actually fall apart. He tilts his hips, hopeful and so fucking wet that there’s almost no resistance when Rick’s fingers slide in deeper and his palm grinds against the archer’s clit. He _sobs_ for breath, feeling the familiar pull deep inside himself, but it’s _not enough_.

“Clothes,” he whimpers, fisting at Rick’s shirt and tugging weakly. He’s so overcome, so overwhelmed, and he’s amazed he can even get the word out around his gasps and moans. He feels like he’s on fire, hurtling toward the horizon and leaving a blazing trail in his path. Nothing has ever come close to this before, nothing has ever been this _good_ , and he can’t coordinate his fingers enough to unbutton Rick’s shirt, so he ends up just ripping it open and ignoring the buttons as they scatter.

He’s seen Rick’s chest before, seen his defined muscles and his blanket of chest hair, but he can’t stop to admire it right now as he drags his own shirt off and throws it before falling against his friend and searching for a kiss. He’s done what he can with what little control he had left. Now he’s just mindlessly rutting, begging incoherently into Rick’s mouth as their tongues slide together and saliva drips down his chin. Daryl feels unmade, like everything he is has been stripped away—carved out and hollowed to make a place for Rick to fill him and leave him seamless and flawless in a way the archer has never been.

Rick’s fingers are unhurried when they curl in the waistband of his loose jeans and boxers, dragging them down over the swell of his ass and baring that which he has guarded so closely. Daryl can barely bring himself to pull away—refuses to break the kiss and ends up wriggling and kicking his legs to get his goddamn clothes the rest of the way off. He’s got one arm wrapped tightly around Rick’s neck and shoulders, clinging to him and digging his blunt nails into the meat of his leader’s back. The other one drops to paw helplessly at the man’s jeans, his fingers too clumsy to figure out the button and zipper because he can’t bring himself to stop what he’s doing and look.

A pleased rumble vibrates from deep in Rick’s chest, the sensations making Daryl’s pussy clench around nothing. He whimpers in distress at that, scratching at his friend’s rippling abdominals and catching his nails on the thick treasure trail. He feels Rick’s hand between them, knuckles scraping against the archer’s stomach while he works himself free, and he moans into Daryl’s mouth when he gets a hand around his own girth.

It’s too much. Daryl has needed for too long. He can’t wait anymore, he _can’t_ , and he bats Rick’s hand away to wrap his own around his friend’s cock. The girth makes him moan, the length makes him _leak_ , and he’s already got the tip pressed to his quivering pussy before he can stop himself.

Rick bites at his lower lip and tugs playfully, making him hiss at the quick sting of pain before it bleeds into pleasure unlike anything he’s ever felt. He doesn’t know how to contain himself like this; ripping his mouth away and screaming soundlessly against his friend’s cheek when he starts to sink onto Rick’s cock and feels the way he stretches around it.

“Fuck, Daryl, you’re so tight,” Rick hisses. “So fuckin’ good for me, darlin’.”

“Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh,” Daryl whimpers, the mantra nothing but punches of breathy air as he’s filled properly for the first time in his entire life. “Oh, oh fuck, oh fuckin’ shit, _Rick please_.”

“Slow down, Daryl. You need to be careful. I’m not gonna hurt you just because you’re impatient.” Hands cage his hips again, Rick’s fingers digging into his sides, and Daryl could honestly scream when he feels himself being forced to slow down. He doesn’t care about the pressure, doesn’t care about the edge of burning pain, because it’s _worth it_. The pain will fade, he knows it will, and even thought it does hurt, it can’t compare to the pleasure of the stretch, of having something so much bigger and thicker than his own fingers, just like he’s been desperate for for so goddamn long.

“S’fine, s’good, fuck, please _don’ stop_ ,” he begs, his words fractured and disjointed as he rolls his hips and sinks down a little more. He’s amazed he even has enough left in him to speak right now, his head snapping back and his hazy eyes staring sightlessly at the cracked ceiling. His vision is blurred, his skin so hot he feels like he’s burning up from fever, and sweat is rolling down his throat and chest; beading against his hard nipples until Rick nuzzles against one and licks the droplets away. Those lips close around the nub and suck lazily, and Daryl’s scream is choked as he _finally_ gets Rick’s cock inside of him the rest of the way and comes so hard he sees stars.

“ _Shit,_ ” Rick gasps, his hips snapping up in response to the rippling clench of Daryl’s internal walls. The archer moans gutturally in response, his arms wrapping tightly around his friend’s chest under his arms; hooking against the backs of his shoulders while Daryl hides his face against the man’s sweaty throat and rides out the most intense orgasm he’s ever had.

“More, more, please, fuck, more,” he manages to get out; his voice wrecked and his muscles still twitching through the aftershocks as he babbles brokenly. Every weak roll of his hips is another spark of pressure and pleasure as the head of Rick’s cock presses against something inside of him that makes his mouth drop open and flood with saliva. There’s more than he can ever hope to swallow, matting in his beard and smearing in shiny trails against Rick’s throat. He mouths at the man’s Adam’s apple, feeling it bob against his lips and moaning pitifully when he feels Rick’s cock start to slide out of him. “No, no, no, what’re you doin’, don’ stop.”

“I’m not stopping,” his leader promises, and his voice is so low and deep that Daryl shivers from it. The layers of implication and lust tangled up in those few words, the _love_ that overpowers everything else, fills Daryl’s chest with a warmth he is wholly unfamiliar with. It cements in him what he’s always known—that he loves Rick more than he ever thought feasibly possible. Daryl never thought he would be _capable_ of love, or even capable of _being_ loved by someone else the way Rick loves him, and he kisses his way up the man’s throat until their mouth’s meet and their tongues twine.

The first true thrust has him whining into Rick’s mouth, his hands tightening against Rick’s shoulders until he wonders if he’s leaving bruises. Rick growls, the sound low and possessive, and Daryl shivers in response and submits to the roll of their bodies. His thighs are already burning as he lifts himself up and then fucks back down, their rhythm perfectly synced so that every time he pushes down, Rick bucks up and sinks back inside of him.

No words really need to be said, but Daryl is discovering quickly that he’s a shameless begger when he’s got Rick’s cock filling him so full that he feels like he’ll never be complete without it again. The heat between them is enough to leave his skin red, his cheeks flushed and his mouth wet as hell because he can’t keep it shut.

“Fuck, _harder_ ,” he whines after one quick, harsh thrust sparks against that spot he hadn’t even known was there. He slams down and chokes on a gasp, his breath sobbing from his straining lungs and his nails clawing marks into Rick’s skin that speak of his passion and need rather than unnecessary violence. Rick is marking him in turn, pressing bruises into his hips and leaving bites along his collarbones and the span of his shoulders.

“Anything for you, Daryl,” the man whispers, and then he’s rolling them until Daryl’s back hits the bed. He wraps his legs around Rick immediately, using the mattress to brace himself and arch into every slam. The sounds are _obscene_ , wet and loud and _perfect_. This new position makes the angle _so fucking good_ , and Daryl has to grab for the closest thing and stuff it into his mouth to muffle his rising screams. He’s _never_ been like this before, never been so uninhibited, and it feels good in a way that’s freeing, that leaves him feeling lighter than he ever has as he writhes on Rick’s cock and forgets for the time being that the world is a shitty place to be.

There’s nothing but Rick, and the heat of him—the delicious drag of his cock against Daryl’s clinging walls as he tries his best to keep his friend from ever leaving the tight, clenching heat of his cunt. If this is really how sex feels, he’s amazed that people weren’t constantly just fucking in the streets before. He’s already addicted, hungry and greedy as he digs his heels into Rick’s spine to try and encourage him to go harder, _faster_ , his voice wrecked when he gets the gag out long enough to beg, “I can take it, c’mon, please, gimme all’a it.”

“You’re so gorgeous like this, darlin’,” Rick moans. “I love you so much, you know that?”

“ _Fuck, nnngh, please, Rick._ ”

He doesn’t know how much more he can take. Is it possible for someone to feel this much of anything without it killing them? The insides of his thighs are soaked with his own juices, and he can feel it matting in his pubic curls as well as Rick’s. Every slap of their skin winds him a little bit tighter. Every thump of Rick’s tight, heavy balls against his core makes him twitch. Every grind of the man’s cockhead against that _spot_ makes lights dance across his vison, and he shoves the shirt back into his mouth before he can wake the whole Block. He knows he must be drawing blood from how hard he’s digging his nails in, but he can’t stop himself.

“Gonna come for me again, darlin’?” the older man pants in his ear, and Daryl whines through his makeshift gag as he nods frantically. He’s so close, so fucking close, and then suddenly Rick’s thumb is grinding against his swollen clit and his scream is so loud the shirt he’s clamping his teeth down on hardly does anything to stifle the noise. He comes so hard he might honestly have blacked out for a second, because when he claws his way back to semi-coherency it’s to the sight of Rick’s eyes screwed shut and his swollen, bruised mouth dropping open as he grinds as deep into Daryl as he can get and finds his own release.

The feeling is indescribable, his walls clenching down tightly as he rides out the aftershocks of another shattering climax. He feels every twitch and throb of Rick’s cock, especially where his pussy is stretched wide and trembling around the wide base.

Daryl goes limp afterwards, still trembling faintly as his head rolls back against his pillow and he works his teeth against the soaked, filthy shirt. It tastes terrible, but he’s not willing to let go of Rick yet. He’s afraid that if he does, reality will crash back in with the force of a freight train and his friend will come to his senses and leave. Declarations of love are one thing, but living up to them is something entirely different. Rick is not a cruel man, not to his family. He is strong and driven, and determined to do right by the ones he cares about. The darkness that dwells within him only manifests against threats to their way of life, and Daryl knows he’s not a threat, but as his breathing evens out and his chest stops heaving, he slowly lets his arms and legs fall away as he eyes Rick.

Lust-dark blue eyes stare back at him, a smile crinkling the edges of them. Rick cups the side of his face and tilts Daryl’s head so he can work the gag out of his mouth and kiss him, their lips brushing tenderly against one another and his tongue just barely curling against the archer’s teeth. It’s not filthy and wet, nothing like the _must have you **now**_ franticness of their sex. It’s so goddamn _gentle_ that Daryl gasps and can’t help but grab for Rick again, his palms against the man’s ribs and his back arching.

“Love doesn’t end when the sex does, darlin’,” Rick breathes against his lips. Daryl whines and lifts his head for another kiss—whimpers when his friend’s softening cock slips from him and the mixture of their cum spills out with nothing to keep it inside. The stain is going to be ridiculous, and Daryl’s not sure if the musky scent of their arousal will ever fade from his sheets, but he doesn’t even care. So long as he has something to remember this, just in case he never gets it again, he doesn’t _care_.

“Nah, but mornin’ brings a whole new series’a regrets with it,” he mutters back. Rick huffs and presses their foreheads together, catching his eyes and keeping him from running away even if he doesn’t have any plans to physically move for the foreseeable future.

“You think I regret this?” the man asks quietly. “You think I regret any part of getting to have this with you?”

“Ya should,” Daryl whispers.

“I don’t,” his friend rumbles. Their lips meet in another slow kiss, and Daryl can’t stop the next whine from slipping free as he presses into the contact like he’d crawl inside of Rick if he could, just so he’d never have to leave. “I _won’t_ ,” he adds once they stop to breathe again. His thumb strokes over the fragile skin beneath Daryl’s eye, his own gaze full of so much affection and _love_ that the archer can almost believe it. “Until the day the world takes me from your side, Daryl, or you leave on your own free will, I will not regret this. I will not stop loving you, even if this is something you never want to do again.”

“Want it always,” Daryl admits, his voice the barest whisper and his arms sneaking around Rick’s waist to hug him tightly. “Never want it ta stop, but I ain’t…”

“You are worth more than you will ever realize, darlin’. One day I’ll get you to believe that, and it will be one of the greatest days of my life.”

They kiss again, because now that he’s had a taste for what this is like, Daryl can’t bring himself to let go. Rick doesn’t seem to mind, either; kissing him back with patience and experience. He leads where the archer fumbles, teaching him the rhythm of something he’s never even touched upon before.

“Should be weird as fuck,” he mumbles after their kisses start to drag and their tongues are too tired to venture. “Know you was expectin’ a dick, an’ not… this.”

“I don’t care what you have between your legs, Daryl.” Rick chuckles and nuzzles against his scratchy cheek, inhaling deeply and letting out a sound that is suspiciously close to a purr. “It’s not what you have that matters, sweetheart. It’s who you _are_. I fell in love with you because of who you are as a person, not because of what you look like. No matter what, I’m happy with you.”

“Fuckin’ sap,” the archer snorts, but there’s no derision in his words, and his palms are firm and slow when he drags them up and down his lover’s back. Rick is his _lover_ , his partner in all of the ways that matter and even those that really don’t. It makes him smile shyly, peering through his lashes and the wild mess of his sweat-damp bangs. “Jus’… don’ go nowhere, okay?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Rick promises fervently. They’re too tired to kiss again, content instead to curl up together on the cot that is far too narrow for two fully grown men to fit comfortably. Daryl presses his face against Rick’s chest, nuzzling against the steady thud of his heart, and he smiles into the space between them when his friend, his lover, his _everything_ , presses a kiss to the crown of his head.

 _I love you_ , he thinks, and maybe one day soon he’ll even be able to say it out loud. For now, though, with the sweat cooled on their skin and their bodies melded together like two imperfectly perfect pieces of a puzzle, this is enough.

It’s more than enough.


End file.
